Worth the Risk
by musik577
Summary: If you asked Clint Barton, aged 17, 18 and 21, if he intended to be in a relationship, he would've replied with different answers. At 17, he would've scoffed. At 18, he would've smiled cynically while a name popped into his head. At age 21, he would've smiled and looked at Natasha Romanoff. While waiting at a little cafe, he wonders how he got to this point. One-shot. Clintasha.


**So.. a week ago I finally watched the Avengers. Then I kinda fell into a sort of Clintasha obsession (: I've been reading loads of Clintasha/BlackHawk fics for the past week when this little oneshot popped into my head (: This is my first Avengers fic, but hopefully I might write a few more (: **

**Anyway, this story is just a reflection of Clint and Natasha's relationship, told mostly around Clint. **

**So… enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Does not own any superheroes or deadly assassins. xD**

If you asked Clint Barton, aged 17, recently known as a lethal assassin and a newly established S.H.I.E.L.D agent, if he had or intended to be in a relationship, he would have simply scoffed, give the inquirer a slow, drawling stare before walking off, rolling his eyes and trying not to smirk at the foolishness of the question.

If you asked Clint Barton, aged 18, a feared and top agent of S.H.I.E.L.D, freshly returned from a mission in Russia involving a certain red haired assassin, if he had or intended to be in a relationship, he would have simply smiled in a cynical way before turning and walking away, pushing away the names of an assassin he had just met that had suddenly entered his mind.

If you asked, Clint Barton, aged 21, the legend of S.H.I.E.L.D, the partner and fiercely close friend of the Black Widow who he'd been successfully working together with for the past 3 years, if he had or intended to be in a relationship, he would have simply offered a small, unreadable smile before his eyes would flicker to the red haired beauty who you'd always find by his side and his smile would widen a little, genuine now, as he stared at his partner.

So, as Clint Barton sat, at a small table inside a small local café in New York, observing his surroundings, he wondered how he had got to this point, sitting and waiting in that little café for Natasha Romanoff, how the pair of the Hawk and the Spider came to be.

…

He was 17 during his year as an assassin, working for the highest bidder.

He was young, strong and fierce; an infamous assassin, prowling the streets of the world, walking under mountains of rumors and whispers, with walls around him that nobody could penetrate, walls guarding him, guarding entrance into his life.

It was said he killed ruthlessly, cold and untouched at the blood slowly seeping it's way to his heart, never flinching as his victims body thudded lifelessly to the floor.

It was said that he never missed. His name whispered in awe. _Hawkeye_. There were a lot of things that were said about him. The assassin. The shadow. The boy, barely a man.

But some of these rumors and whispers, were just, rumors and whispers.

He _was_ young. Strong. Fierce. He _was_ an assassin, travelling the world, finding his newest target.

He _did_ have walls, walls so high, that he himself couldn't see the top if he tried. But he built those walls to protect himself, to never let another touch and affect him as those in his past.

He killed efficiently. Fast. Accurate. But every kill was another red marker in his mind, every kill a chilling reminder of the profession he now called his own. He had watched too many die before him, too many die by his hands, and no matter what he did, no matter what he would do, every time he looked down at his hands, all he would see was blood, forever marking him and reminding him.

And so when he stood watching an agent standing before him, Phil Coulson, offering a chance at a life where he would do good in the world, he knew what he needed to do. He knew that somehow, he needed to leave the past behind him, wash his hands of the blood he had spilt and become something better.

Because frankly, anything was better than the monster he was.

…

When he was told that he was supposed to locate and eliminate a deadly assassin in Russia, Clint Barton just nodded and went off to pack his weapons.

He had been told all about this lethal new threat, how they'd appear so sweet, so untouched, that all those set out to find her had let down their guard, just a little, but enough for the cunning Black Widow slip through the gaps.

He had done his homework, reading everything he could find on Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow. She was 18, the same age as him, and her recorded kills were enough to make anyone look away.

He tried to push away the sinking feeling that he had seen this all before.

_Lived_ it all before.

He flew to Russia, not knowing what to expect but knowing to expect a lot.

And so he was to.

As he ran lightly across roofs under the stars at night, as he slipped into crowds under the blaring sun, he had his eye on a single red head.

The red head he had been ordered to kill.

She was deadly, he knew from the moment he watched her stick a knife into a man before walking away and out of sight before he had even hit the ground.

But she was a mystery too. She'd kill quick and clean, she killed so they wouldn't feel the pain. She killed confidently but walked away shaking, giving every pale corpse a single glance before walking away.

He knew that she had known he was following her, that was evident the moment he found a spider, crawling up pillow, a single slip of paper placed flatly under.

_Your Move. _

He read the words silently before glancing around, watching the shadows for the spider who had spun herself a web so complex that even the hawk had difficulty navigating.

It was his move after all, but he still wasn't sure how to play it.

But when the time came, he knew. He knew as he watched her kill a mother of 2, before walking away, her eyes flickering to body that lay still on the floor.

He watched as she silently hovered outside the quiet apartment, where the children were due home any moment, before quickly pushing a wad of notes through the door and leaving with an unreadable expression on her face.

He watched as she walked quickly down an empty alley before sinking down against the wall, her head in her hands.

He watched as she lifted her head to stare at the man now standing before her, her shadow who had been dutifully watching her every move for the past week.

She was ready to give up, to let herself be led into death's beckoning arms, to finally escape the life which haunted her everyday.

But instead, he offered her a job.

A job, which he remembered taking only a short time ago, hoping that it would hopefully wipe a smudge of red from his gushing ledger.

She had stared at him, her green eyes tired and weary, eyes which seem to say that she had seen enough of this world, that she had seen things which would stay with her forever. But there was a small spark, one so tiny, that she didn't want to admit, knowing that if she did, the fall would only be harder.

She nodded slowly, a flicker of hope flashing briefly in her eyes.

He watched her quietly, unnoticeably on the ride back. She was beautiful, it wasn't even an opinion, it was a fact. She stared out the window, staring at anything but the man beside her. He couldn't help but stare at the curly red ringlets sliding down her back, the flash of green whenever she turned her eyes.

He felt a connection to her, something he didn't feel very often. He wondered why. Was it because of the similar situation they had been in? Was it their childhood? Or the feeling that there was red in their ledger that they could never get rid of?

She suddenly turned, catching his eye in the process. Blue and green. He felt something run through his spine as he stared into those green eyes. But before he could say anything, she flashed him a small smile, one that he knew was a rare find, before quickly turning away again.

He knew that was the Russian assassin's way of _thank you_.

Something very rare indeed.

…

It was something of a hot topic for the agents at S.H.I.E.L.D. , the unlikely relationship of the deadly Hawkeye and the notorious Black Widow. They were the deadliest duo S.H.I.E.L.D. had even seen, working efficiently while their lethality together had reached levels that no one would ever want to encounter.

Everyone knew that Clint Barton had broken protocol, broken every rule there was at S.H.I.E.L.D. to somehow recruit Natasha Romanoff, a former member in the agency's 'to-kill' list.

But no one knew why.

In the next three years, Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff were rarely seen without each other. They worked together, as assassins, as spies, as covers, whatever they were required to be. On rare occasions, they were sent on individual missions, but it was common knowledge that they worked best together.

They were _the _assassins in the world. The duo feared above all else.

They understood each other perfectly. A single glance towards each other was all they needed before their target was gone.

They knew each other better than they knew themselves. When she woke up screaming in the middle of night by the nightmares which haunted her relentlessly, Clint was the one who would sit by her side and sing her gently back to sleep. When he woke up in the middle of the night, thrashing and gasping as he battled his demons in his nightmares, Natasha would be there to hold his hand and reassure him that she would be there for him, always.

And she was.

They, themselves, often wondered how they came to be, how they seem to have a relationship without even knowing they had built it.

They were similar, the two, in more ways than one. They both had a disastrous childhood, leaving them scarred but strong in the future. They both were broken before they had been found, before taking the slow and painful road to recovery. They both had red in their ledger, something which taunted them endlessly while waving the blood splattered pages in their face.

They became themselves when they were around each other, dropping the façade that they wore for everyone to see.

She would laugh and joke, screaming in Russian at the stupidity of his newest bullet wound, or throw a knife at him without even look up from her book.

He would grin widely before making a sarcastic remark, fuming when she returned home injured, or shoot his arrow at the apple balanced precariously on top of her head without breaking a sweat.

They were well matched; there was no one who could challenge them as much as they challenged each other. They would spar for hours at a time, her elegance but deadly accuracy matched with his speed and force.

They were partners, close friends, trusted allies.

But it didn't take long before this turned to more.

The thought of a level above friendship between them lingered in both their minds, something they often considered and often thought about. They didn't talk about it much, but there was always the question between them, flashing in their eyes as their hands brushed against each other.

They both had walls which didn't allow many people through, they had been through too much heartbreak which had clouded their judgment of love, of _forever_.

They were scared of having a relationship, though both of them would deny it immediately. They were afraid to wake up one morning to find the other gone. They were afraid of the looming possibility of death that accompanied their every mission.

They were scared that, if they did take their relationship to something more, the fall would hurt more.

Their lives were uncertain. Unpredictable. Uncontrollable. And they knew that if they were together, if one left, the other would follow soon after. The idea of a relationship was dangerous, this they both knew.

But they both secretly longed for it.

However, when they arrived back from a particularly grueling mission in Budapest, something had changed.

They had learned during that mission, that if they were in a relationship or not, the loss of losing each other would be the same.

Being so close to losing each other had opened their eyes, it had shown them that even though death loomed regularly above them, it would always haunt them, relationship or not.

So they took the risk.

They took a leap of faith, towards each other.

They knew the day would come when goodbyes would have to said.

But now they knew that, the day would come no matter what.

So they decided to embark on an adventure neither had experienced before.

This adventure they like to call _love_.

It was dangerous, but it was worth the risk.

Because they had each other and their love only made them stronger.

…

He sat there, waiting patiently.

His eyes hid behind dark sunglasses, casually but alertly taking in his surroundings.

He shifted in his seat, his hands resting gently on the small table in front of them.

His lips quirked up as he spotted the small bookshop beside the little café which he was currently waiting at.

If any observer would happen across this man, they would assume he was waiting for something. For what, it was unsure.

As he sat quietly, he wondered about how he had gotten to this point.

He remembered the time when there was nothing in the world that would ever make his heart flutter.

He remembered the time when a single red headed beauty had caught his eye, sneaking their way into his thoughts.

He remembered when someone had stolen his heart, when that person and he embarked on a dangerous mission.

Their mission of love.

Suddenly, an observer would see, the sudden bright grin which lit up his face as he stared happily at a beautiful redhead who was smiling back, walking towards him with two cups of coffee clasped in her hands.

Natasha Romanoff walked happily towards him, placing the two cups of steaming coffee on the table before pressing a sweet kiss to his lips.

They sat together, legs pressing against each other, eyes bright and smiles evident, talking and laughing while entwining their hands together, not letting go.

And suddenly Clint Barton understood. He knew how they had gotten to this point, this point where nothing could get between them anymore.

Natasha Romanoff had been a mystery, but Clint Barton was a master detective, solving her while also solving himself.

They completed each other, they healed each other of the pasts which haunted them.

They were in love, that was the simple answer.

It had taken a while for each other to realize, but they had gotten there in the end.

Their love was risky. Dangerous. Unlikely.

But they were willing to take the risk.

**So how was it? Terrible? Good? Ok? Tell me in a review (: **

**By the way, this little one-shot was inspired by 'Anything Can Happen' by Ellie Goulding, a song I heard on the radio a few days back. **

**Thanks for reading and review! (:**


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